Ashes to Ashes by Lillian Stewart Carl Page B

onto the landing. Considerate of him, to destroy only something that was worthless anyway. That’s the kind of consideration Michael would show.
    In the Hall Michael was smearing white paste over a bowl, completely absorbed. He was the more likely candidate for practical joker, and yet if he were, surely he’d show some interest in the results of his joke. Maybe he hadn’t counted on Phil playing cavalry, maybe he’d been waiting to play the gallant rescuer after she was thoroughly flushed and flustered.
    You’re getting paranoid, Rebecca chided herself. It was an accident. There was simply no reason for it to be any more than that.
    The front door thudded shut behind Phil. Rebecca turned and hurried up to her room. Almost five o’clock, she wouldn’t have time to wash her hair.
    The telephone jangled. An odd ring, in stereo. Oh— there was an extension on the fourth floor. It was probably a salesman, a computer selling aluminum siding, and she hadn’t even decided what to wear. “Hello. Dun Iain Estate.”
    “Rebecca!” said a familiar voice. “There you are!”
    Her mind hiccuped. She knew who it was— who was it?
    It was Ray. “I’ve been worried about you, Kitten. You never called to tell me you’d gotten there safely.”
    “You never told me you wanted me to call,” she replied, trying to ignore the accusatory tone in his voice. The man’s timing was incredible, calling her just as she was about to step out with another man. She tapped her fingernails against the table, the rapid tic tic tic displacing the quiet creaks and settlings of the house. But that was the protocol— while she was gone, they were to date other people. They were to give each other space. And here he was already violating hers.
    “How’s it going?” Ray asked.
    “Fine.”
    “Have you found that letter of yours yet?”
    “No.” She grimaced at her own impatience and tried not to peer through the adjacent door at the clock radio beside Michael’s bed. “There’s an incredible amount of material to sift through. We didn’t even get the inventories until a few hours ago.”
    “We? Oh yeah, the guy from England.”
    “Scotland,” corrected Rebecca wearily. She straightened and walked the length of the phone cord to look into James’s room. Here, too, was a strong odor of lavender. One of the cut-glass perfume bottles from Elspeth’s dressing table sat on the windowsill.
    “I’ll bet he’s one of those funny old guys like our tour guide.”
    First Jan, then Ray. Didn’t anyone realize that people were still bearing children in Scotland? It wasn’t all one big museum. “No, he’s about our age.” Rebecca took another step and almost yanked the phone off the table. That bottle hadn’t been there earlier. Dorothy or Phil must have moved it.
    “Oh, I see. Good looking?”
    “I don’t know. I hadn’t noticed.” Liar, she said to herself. He has red glints in his hair, his eyes are as blue as a loch in the sunshine, and he has a tartan chip on his shoulder.
    “Oh. Well. I see.” Rebecca pictured Ray settling back in his chair, pipe in hand. “So then. What have you had to eat?”
    “Not much. I didn’t come here to cook, I came here to work.”
    “The leftover meat loaf is gone,” he said. “I ate it last night. I was thinking of having the spaghetti sauce tonight, but there’s no spaghetti. You must not have put it on your list.”
    Rebecca stifled an impulse to throw the phone against the wall. I’m busy, she wanted to blurt. I’m finally doing my own work, not yours. Inspiration struck. “Ray, this phone call must be costing you a fortune!”
    “Oh yeah. Well, drop me a letter,” he said briskly. “I miss you, Kitten.”
    “Take care,” she replied, and hung up feeling absurdly guilty, as if she’d been kicking a stuffed animal. She’d never suspect Ray of filing through a desk chair when he couldn’t even buy a package of spaghetti.
    No, that wasn’t fair. It was her own fault he’d